


Spread Love and Understanding Positivity

by whisperingwind



Series: epilepsy 'verse [15]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, Arguing, Canon Compliant, Circa 2013, Epilepsy, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Neurological Disorders, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 12:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11806014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisperingwind/pseuds/whisperingwind
Summary: “I’ll be okay,” Harry says, turning around to meet Louis’ eyes. A weak smile spans over his lips. “I’m serious, I’ll be okay. I always am.”“I-” Louis sighs. His eyes drift downward to focus on Harry’s trembling hands as they spasm in odd intervals. They've been shaky for as long as Louis has known him. “I know you are, but you need to take a break. I can tell you're tired," he takes his hands, firmly squeezing them as they shake in his grasp, "We can run through rehearsals without you. You catch on quickly.”Harry tilts his head, not understanding what Louis is rambling about, “But I feel fine."Or, it's 2013, the boys don't understand and view Harry's epilepsy as a nuisance. It takes far more than Louis' argumentative personality to prove them wrong.Title from "What Do I Know?" by Ed Sheeran





	Spread Love and Understanding Positivity

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for the prompt chloe .x also, note that the particular seizure described in this part of the verse is relatively graphic.

Louis stands behind Harry, fingers kneading into his tense shoulders, “You don’t look too well, love,” he whispers, breath blowing against Harry's ear, “Maybe you should sit this one out.” 

They're meant to be rehearsing for their live performance tonight, but each time Louis glances towards Harry, the energy becomes increasingly drained from him. Their stage set up is intricate and well thought out, but Louis doesn't know if its spontaneous and unique quality is something One Direction needs. It's not exactly applicable to the band. After all, their thematic message - if there even is one - doesn't include glamour or impulsive surroundings. They're five normal lads who happen to excel at singing. They don't need to show anything off. 

Especially at nineteen, twenty, and twenty-one years old, there isn't anything to show off. They enjoy celebrating their talent and passions with the world, typically in the most mundane ways, and so the idea of having a huge stage set-up with lights - none flashing, of course - sounds, and massive scenery for the entire world to see isn't artistically appeasing for them. They aren't Lady Gaga or Katy Perry or any other musical act whose artistic vision is "the bigger, the better", but the flashiness for tonight's performance was suggested by a crew member and it stuck with their creative team. 

Louis isn't happy about it. Mostly because he doesn't particularly care for gaudiness, but also for the simple fact that the sophistication could be too much stress for Harry to handle. He can't say anything about it, though. Liam, Niall, and Zayn have been acting very strange the last few days at the mention of Harry, which is strange, since they've always been infamous and popularized due to their genuine friendship. Harry's been given the cold shoulder for about three days now and either he hasn't noticed or he's chosen not to make mention of it. 

It's quite bizarre. The lads won't acknowledge his existence and the only reason Louis can think of is Harry's tardiness and unreliability the last few days. While he understands where the boys are coming from - as it is irritating to be put off schedule when one has other priorities - he does think the boys need to understand Harry's side of things. His neurologist changed his prescription and the side effects, unfortunately, have been disconcertingly strong. He's been ill on and off for a few days, thus making it difficult to be prompt and focused.

The boys aren't in Louis' position. Their aggravation is understandable to a point, though Louis doesn't think ignoring Harry does anything to solve misunderstandings. He's always been a firm believer in talking through problems until resolved. If the talking turns into a bit of emotional shouting, then so be it, but it's always best to have clear comprehension of everyone's feelings regarding a particular issue or scenario. 

“I’ll be okay,” Harry says, turning around to meet Louis’ eyes. A weak smile spans over his lips. “I’m serious, I’ll be okay. I always am.” 

“I-” Louis sighs. His eyes drift downward to focus on Harry’s trembling hands as they spasm in odd intervals. They've been shaky for as long as Louis has known him. Some days the shaking is intense, so intense he can hardly keep a grip on his microphone, but thankfully, today is not one of those days. In the last couple months, the fans have become aware of Harry's hand tremors and while most of them find it to be endearing, there are others who poke fun at him for it. Some even go as far as manipulating the media and creating rumors. The most viral rumor had been a headline about Harry experiencing withdrawals from cocaine as an explanation for the uncontrolled quivering in his hands. “I know you are, but you need to take a break. I can tell you're tired," he takes his hands, firmly squeezing them as they shake in his grasp, "We can run through rehearsals without you. You catch on quickly.”

Harry tilts his head, not understanding what Louis is rambling about. “But I feel fine."  

“Harry,” Louis cautions, cupping his chin, forcing his head down, “this new prescription is making me really nervous. I don't want you passing out or something because you pushed yourself too hard.” 

This new anti-seizure medicine includes some of the worst side effects Louis has seen. Aside from typical drowsiness and dizziness, the prescribed pharmaceuticals have inflicted a splotchy red and pink rash on Harry’s arms and across his back and chest as well as rather severe double vision. All in all, Louis can tell he doesn’t feel well, judging by the pale hue splashed on his sharp features and his labored breathing when it comes time to sing his designated parts. 

“I’ll be fine, Lou, you know it always takes my body a few days to get used to it,” he places his hand on top of Louis’, brushing his thumb over his knuckles, "You don't have to worry about me. You know I always tell you when something doesn't feel right."  

Louis keeps his eyes trained on Harry’s light green ones, “Yeah, but I don’t think seizure medication should cause a rash. I can’t even give you Benadryl because-”

“It’s okay, babe, really,” Harry says, shushing Louis, “and if it makes you feel better, I’ll go back to the dressing room for a little bit and make an appointment with Dr. Richards. Then I'll take a nap or something.” 

“I’d like that,” Louis whispers, leaning up to kiss him.

Harry smiles as soon as they pull away. He kisses Louis’ cheek, then dismisses himself, disappearing off stage. He takes each step with ease and discretion and walks towards the back hallway where he’s greeted by several members of their team.

It’s not even two whole minutes before the boys begin to ask several questions, “Where’s Harry?” Niall wonders aloud, peering around the O2 arena, as though the youngest lad is hiding in plain sight. 

“He wasn’t feeling well. He went backstage for a nap," Louis replies.

Liam furrows his eyebrows, “We only have a set amount of time to rehearse. He can’t just skip out on us like this.” 

“He always does this,” Zayn sighs.

The Brits are _tonight_ , or rather, they commence in about six hours. This last session on stage is a dress rehearsal, meant to ensure all lighting and sound is perfected before their live performance, but they've had rehearsals all week, albeit to a less intense degree, and Louis figures if they're not ready now, they won't be ready for tonight.  


“He’s ill,” Louis repeats, uncaring for the boys' relentlessness.   


“Of course,” Niall mutters, rolling his eyes, “He always is, isn’t he? How convenient.”

“He has epilepsy, Niall, not the bloody flu,” Louis shakes his head at his bandmates' ignorance. “He can’t exactly help it and they changed his prescription. It always makes it harder for him to cope.”

Zayn shrugs his shoulders, “That may be, but you have to understand where we’re coming from, bro. It feels like he backs out of everything we try to do.” 

“I thought you guys would be more understanding,” Louis glares at all three of them, “I’m not gonna say it again. He’s ill and unless you want him to have a seizure, he’s going to take this extra time to rest.” 

“Look Lou,” Liam starts to say.

“Don’t you _Lou_ me. You don’t get to talk to me like you’re my friend when you’re about to tell me something that’s gonna set me off.” 

“How do you know it’s gonna set you off?” he asks.

“Because you’re you.” 

Liam loudly exhales, “Look, the first few times he skipped out on things it was understandable, but now it’s close to being everyday and I think I can say it for all of us when I say it’s not professional and annoying.” 

“Are you-” Louis laughs, a deep, hardened laugh. He cards his fingers through his hair, tugging at the roots. “You’re serious? He has a medical condition! A bloody medical condition. If it bothers you all that much, then you shouldn’t have agreed to keep him in the band.” 

Some time after they were placed in One Direction on the X-Factor, during the fifth or sixth live week, Harry had briefly told Louis about his epilepsy and what it entailed.  Since they weren’t dating yet, Louis hadn't considered the seizure disorder to be an issue. He didn’t truthfully understand the seriousness of it until Harry experienced a complex partial one night. From there, he and Harry sat down and Harry answered every question Louis had for him. 

He felt well versed. If Harry were to ever have a grand mal, he was sure he could handle the situation, even as an awkward eighteen year old, since Harry had taken the time to clearly illustrate and explain the steps and precautions he would need to take. 

They had to tell the boys next. It wasn’t something Harry was comfortable with, but Louis assured him it was the right thing to do, as the boys wouldn’t be as scared and confused if Harry were to have a massive seizure in front of them. 

At first, the boys were confused, but Harry showed them clips of people experiencing seizures, both big and small, to enhance their understanding of the disorder. By the end of the candid discussion, they still didn't understand why such a condition affected Harry, but to be far, Harry didn’t know why he suffered from it either, nor did his family or the best of physicians. Even to this day, nobody truly understands the cause of his epilepsy.   


After Harry's revelation, there was brief talk between the lads regarding Harry’s place and importance in the band. Harry was a crucial part of the group, both vocally and personality wise, but his safety and welfare were questioned. Louis made prominent points and he figures if it weren’t for his thorough argument, the boys most likely would have agreed to ask Harry to leave the group. 

“We didn’t know he was gonna flake out on us everyday, man, it’s really fucking annoying,” Zayn snaps, "This is our career."  

Louis narrows his eyes, scrutinizing Zayn's every word. He comes to the conclusion that Zayn is a) extremely hypocritical and b) even more ignorant than he originally assumed. “As if you don’t do it all the time,” he scoffs, "How many times have you skipped out without telling us where you were going?"  


“Yeah, but I’m not Harry _fucking_ Styles,” Zayn argues, approaching Louis. He lowers his voice once they’re face to face,  “and furthermore, I always tell you lot what’s going on. He doesn’t ever speak for himself. You’re like a little fucking messenger bird, carrying messages back and forth between us. Maybe it’s because you’re controlling. You like to control him, don’t you? Need to feel like the bigger man.” 

“What the hell are you going on about?" Louis quips, eyeing the dark-eyed boy, "I do not control him. I need to-”

“Then why don’t you let him speak for himself?” Liam interrupts. 

Louis can’t believe what’s unfolding in front of him right now. His mates are seriously ganging up on him, attempting to reprimand his actions and behavior surrounding Harry, when they can’t even comprehend most of what occurs behind closed doors. 

“Because he doesn’t fucking want to!” he shouts, hands fidgeting down at his sides. He has the urge to punch Zayn for standing so close to him, staring down at him as though he's less important, as though he isn't valued. His shout has crew members turning to look at him, but he doesn’t mind. People staring doesn’t bother him like it does the others. “God, don’t you guys understand? He has a serious medical condition and he chooses not to- he doesn’t _want_ to discuss it with you. Maybe if you didn’t lose your fucking heads because he went to take a nap, he’d talk to you about these things.”

“The guilt trip thing doesn’t work on us,” Niall says, shrugging. 

“I-” Louis stops for a moment, attempting to remain calm. He blinks a few times because he can’t believe just how ignorant and insensitive his bandmates are behaving. “You know what? You three can perform by your fucking selves. Learn some empathy and until you do, don’t talk to me.” 

He stomps down the stage steps and carries himself with a rushed stride to the back room where Harry is sleeping, sprawled across one of the loveseats. He doesn’t look comfortable, but Louis figures he didn’t mind, or else he wouldn’t be asleep. 

Louis sits on one of the spare recliners, watching Harry with his elbow propped against the armrest, and his chin resting in the palm of his hand. They need some time off as it’s been non stop for the past two months, jam-packed with recording their third album, TV and award show appearances, interviews, and surprise gigs. 

Even despite the argument earlier, One Direction go on to perform their charity single, One Way Or Another, at the Brit awards, though the band’s normal admiration and respect for each other is faked for the majority of the evening. 

Harry doesn’t understand what happened or why none of the boys will even look his way or Louis' way when they’re in the car, heading to an after party. Louis doesn’t seem to mind. He doesn't acknowledge it, placing his hand on Harry’s thigh and squeezing in a constant reassurance.

 

 

 

 

Louis bites down on his bottom lip, continuously refreshing the message app on his phone, as though Harry’s text is waiting to be read. He’s in an airport with the rest of the lads, waiting for Harry to appear. Before they can catch their flight to Los Angeles, they need to have all five members together. It's been determined that they need to arrive as a unit for promotional and time management reasons, since their distant behavior at the Brit awards was all over the media and Twitter.   


“He must like to mess everything up for everyone,” Niall says, breaking the silence surrounding them, “If we have to take a later flight because of him, I’m gonna be pissed.” 

Louis glances up from his phone, “You mean you aren’t already?” 

“You think this is funny, don’t you?” Liam snaps. “Well, I’ve got news for you, Louis. Nobody else does. We all have things to do when we get to LA, and  _ your _ boyfriend being late ruins it for everyone.” 

“ _My_ boyfriend is at the hospital meeting with his neurologist,” Louis explains, “That’s a bit more important than some flight, don’t you think?”

Harry wanted to meet with his neurologist, Dr. Richards, before flying out to the states to ensure his medication was up to date and things regarding his brain remained relatively steady. Louis, of course, encouraged his choice. He'd rather Harry have professional clearance before flying across the world.

Before he left for his appointment early this morning, Louis made sure to remind him to mention and show Dr. Richards the rash his new medicine had given him. They’re only on day six of the new prescription, meaning the side effects are still strong, but Harry’s seizures have been nearly nonexistent. His larger ones are typically more rare as is, therefore they haven’t seen how the tonic clonic ones have been affected with the new prescription, but as for his absences and complex partials, they've improved significantly, occurring sporadically. Louis has only seen him have a couple absences over the last week.

A woman’s sophisticated, posh voice echoes over the loud speakers, “Attention passengers, flight 332 to Los Angeles is now boarding. Flight 332 to Los Angeles is now boarding.” 

Zayn sighs, slumping down in his seat, “Put off schedule by Harry, again. Great.” 

“Why did he have to set his appointment for this morning anyways? He’s so inconsiderate,” Liam mumbles. 

Louis won't bother arguing with them anymore. They’ll never fully understand. He’s not willing to waste his breath on people who aren’t inclined to understand and mend to his expectations or Harry's needs. He doesn’t understand what’s happened. The boys have always been relatively understanding and helpful regarding Harry, but it seems as though now that the ugly face of epilepsy has made itself known, they’re not prepared to act the same. 

“I am so sorry.”

Louis knows that voice. When he looks up, he sees Harry standing with his carry-on braced on his shoulder and an antsy look spanned across his eyes. “Hey," Louis says, offering him a relaxed grin. He's happy to see him. He always is.  

“I’m really sorry, my appointment went longer than I expected,” Harry explains, heaving out deep breaths. He must have ran to find upon hearing the lady speak over the intercom. 

“Yeah, whatever Harry,” Liam mutters. The lads stand, collecting their things, and they begin to walk, following behind members of their management and security crew. 

“Guys?” Harry asks, furrowing his eyebrows. His nose twitches once, twice, three times. His friends are evidently angry with him and it upsets him greatly as he doesn’t quite understand what he’s done to irritate them. “What did I-”

“Ignore them, love,” Louis says, placing his hand on the center of Harry’s back, “They’ve been shitty all morning." 

Harry frowns. “Did I do something wrong?” 

“Of course not, sweets. Has nothing to do with you,” They walk a few feet behind the boys. “How was your appointment? What did Dr. Richards say?” 

Harry hikes his duffel bag higher on his shoulder. “Well, she looked at the rash, had to take my shirt off and everything.” 

“And?”

“It’s nothing to be worried about, thinks it could have been a bad reaction to my other medication, but she’s taking me off Carbatrol just in case,” Harry explains, turning his head to glance at Louis, “She’s starting me on Fycompa. That’s why I was running late, had to go to the pharmacy to pick it up, then the clerk was giving me a hard time about it.” 

“Wait,” Louis stops, placing his hand on Harry’s bicep, “She started you on a new medication? Before we’re meant to go across the world? What are the side effects?” 

Harry meets his eyes. “She listed off dizziness, anxiety, vomiting, bruising, weight gain, headaches. So, it’s all the usual stuff. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” 

“You haven’t taken it yet?” Louis asks. 

“It’s a nightly dosage,” Harry says, “I’ll take the first one tonight.” 

Louis stares at him for a moment, swallowing thickly. He hates when Harry starts a new medication because they never know how severe the side effects will be and how long they’ll last. “Okay, just- you’ve gotta tell me if it makes you feel strange or really sick.” 

“Always Lou,” Harry offers him a smile, then kisses his cheek, “I did with the rash, didn’t I?” 

Louis nods, but doesn’t say anything. The two of them move forward to steady their pace with the lads.

 

 

 

 

They boys have been pitching their song ideas, lyrics, and demos all morning. Every time Harry tries to say anything one of the other boys cuts him off and spews their own opinions and thoughts. Louis hasn't interfered with their rude and entitled attitudes at all for the past hour, but the look of disappoint that crosses Harry's eyes each time they say something harsh progressively frustrates him. He doesn't know how much longer he'll be able to hold back his brewing rage.   


After listening to another demo Harry recorded, the boys fall silent, forming opinions about the song they've just listened to. Finally, Liam says, “I think we should cut the song from this discussion. I’m not a fan of it.”    


“But I- I, um, I spent a lot of time on that song,” Harry mumbles, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “I can revise it if you guys want, then, um, like I could pitch again in a few days.”

Niall sighs, “I’m gonna agree with Liam here. I don’t think it meets the sound we’re trying to go for this time around.” 

“Okay, sure,” Harry says, shrugging his shoulders. He’s discouraged, but won’t dare argue with the boys over something so silly. He doesn’t know why the lads are upset with him, though he doesn’t feel obligated to ask as he may be scrutinizing the situation. “What if we-”

Zayn interrupts him, “Story of My Life is really fucking good. Keep that one in mind.” 

Louis doesn’t want to fight Harry’s battles for him, but he also doesn’t want to see Harry take backseat during this creative process. Usually, Harry would voice his opinion and argue for his style of musics and the songs he’s written, but not today. He woke up not feeling very well, vomiting twice before they even arrived at the studio, and he still appears rather ghostly, face flushed a troubling pale color.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, “and we could add a-”

“You could do the bridge, Z,” Liam says, disregarding Harry’s opinion, “Think it would suit your voice real well.” 

Louis can’t take the disrespect any longer, “Is there a reason you’re being such a prick to him?” he asks, glowering at Liam. 

Liam shakes his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, nonchalantly. 

“Seriously?” Louis scoffs, struggling to subside his irritation. Liam shrugs. “Anytime he tries to talk, you guys shoot him down, what the fuck is up with that?” 

“Louis,” Harry sighs. The last thing he wants is his boyfriend and his best friends arguing on his behalf. He already feels as though he’s stuck in the middle and it’s such an uncomfortable feeling. 

“Not right now, Harry. I wanna know,” Louis squares up to Liam, standing chest to chest with the broader lad. “I wanna know what exactly he did that’s made you treat him so poorly.” 

“I think you ought to step off,” Liam says.

“Oh, really? And just what-” Louis shoves him- “are you gonna do about it?” 

Harry sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. 

Liam laughs, mocking Louis. “You don’t scare me Louis. I’m serious, step off.” 

“C’mon guys, stop,” Niall stands, stepping between the two of them, “We’ve gotta work on this album, now come on, knock it off.” 

“We wouldn’t be so behind if it wasn’t for Harry skipping out every chance he gets,” Zayn points out, nodding towards the youngest lad.

Harry shakes his head. He doesn’t feel strong enough to put up a fight. “I- what?” 

“You were late this morning, like you’re late to every session,” Liam points out, rattling off a list of the things Harry does wrong, “You never finish show rehearsals. You’re not reliable whatsoever and it’s starting to get really irritating. If you don’t want to be apart of One Direction anymore, then just tell us.” 

“No,” Harry forces a laugh, “No, it’s not like that at all. I’ve just been struggling to keep up with my medication recently, and my doctor- my doctor just keeps changing my prescription. It has nothing to do with not wanting to be here.” 

“Right,” Zayn mutters, sarcastically, “I wish I could use that as an excuse every time I did my bandmates wrong.”

Harry rubs his temples because, well, are his bandmates seriously assuming he doesn’t want to be apart of this anymore. The last two and a half years have been the best time of his life. “I’m sorry you guys feel that way, but it’s not like that at all. My last couple prescriptions haven’t been good ones. This last one caused a lot of skin irritation and the one before that made me feel really sick.” 

“Maybe he should just go off his medication,” Louis suggests, sounding incredibly annoyed, “Forget about the medication keeping him upright and functioning, let’s get rid of it," he says, sweeping the air with his hand, "Just wondering, which one of you is gonna help me calm him down when he starts having seizures galore?” 

Liam scoffs. “That’s a really fucking stupid thing to say.” 

“That’s quite seriously what you lot sound like,” Louis reprimands, “No remorse or sympathy for the situation.” 

“It’s a pain in the ass,” Niall snaps, genuinely aggravated, “Having to walk around eggshells around here is annoying. We’re in the music industry and if we don’t stay on schedule then we’re not gonna continue to do well. Harry, I’m sorry, but if you can’t keep up with us, then maybe this isn’t where you need to be.” 

Harry swallows, “I think I know where I stand then. I’m really sorry,” he bows his head, eyes teary. He didn’t realize how hard he was making it for his bandmates. It’s all his fault. His stupid disability is affecting the one thing he’s passionate about and it’s going to be pulled out from under him like everything else in his life. If he loses his spot in his band, then he’s going to lose some of the best friends he’s ever had, and subsequently, his boyfriend. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Louis erupts. “This whole conversation is a joke! You lot act like he’s a bloody nuisance when he’s not. Even if we have been put a bit off schedule, it hasn’t affected our careers at all. We haven’t had to pull out of anything, so I don’t understand why the lot of you are so fucking pissed.” 

“He’s being inconsiderate and-”

“He has a medical condition!” he yells. “Trust me, if he didn’t have seizures to constantly worry about, he would be much more dedicated to this. I cannot believe how insensitive you’re being. Do you know what he goes through on a daily basis?” 

Zayn watches him with widened eyes, “Louis, relax man.” 

“No, do you? Do you understand the constant stress he’s under? You guys are so uneducated and you’ve never taken the time to understand the basis of what’s going on.” 

“Louis, stop,” Harry glances at all of them. “I’m- I’m really sorry. It’s my fault you’re all arguing and you shouldn’t be shouting at each other on my behalf. I’m sorry for not taking this more seriously. I’m willing to be more open with you all and discuss it, but you have to stop arguing.” 

Louis stares at him. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, love.” 

“You’re being ridiculous, you know that?” Liam snaps at Louis. “Saying we don’t understand anything when we clearly do. You’re just angry that you’ve been forced to deal with your boyfriend’s epilepsy for two and a half years.” 

“What are you even talking about?” Louis roars. “I don’t- it’s not a job, I haven’t been forced to deal with anything. I choose to help him because I love him and until you know what happens behind closed doors, you can shut the fuck up and mind your own business.” 

Harry doesn’t comprehend the purpose of all this arguing. Everyone is becoming increasingly upset and rambling about things they have no knowledge of for the sake of winning this horrendous verbal assault. He stands, wishing to separate himself from the scene, in the hopes that his absence will lead to them working their conflicts out. 

Liam realizes what he said was out of place and begins to furiously apologize, “Louis, I’m sorry. That was low, and I shouldn’t have brought it up.” 

“Maybe if you guys would take the time to acknowledge and sympathize with him, instead of acting like fucking morons, you wouldn’t have to pull our personal lives in this for sake of an argument,” Louis points out, walking closer to Liam. He lowers his voice, “If you ever say something like that again, I’ll beat the shit out of you.” 

Harry is walking towards the exit when his body begins to feel heavy, as though it’s being pulled towards the floor. His tongue laps in his mouth as a strange smell floats into his naval cavities. He starts to say Louis’ name, but his legs buckle underneath him and he stumbles into a table, body smashing against it’s hard, marble surface.

As soon as he hears the absurdly loud thud, Louis whips his head around and his eyes widen. “Shit, Harry,” he hisses, shoving past the lads to get to him, “Fuck, baby, you’re okay,” he whispers, hesitant of where to touch Harry. He’s half on, half off the marble coffee table, upper body sprawled across its surface while his legs are unevenly slumped against the carpeting. 

He cries out, sharply and perpetually, sounding similar to a yelping dog, as his neck arches back, his body trembling with tension. “You’re okay, shh, you’re okay, let’s get you on the floor, love, you’re alright,” He's extremely cautious, trying to plot where the easiest spot to hold him is, “I’ve got you, shh, it’s alright.” 

A puddle of wee is expanding underneath him, seeping into the white carpet. If Harry knew what he was doing, he'd be mortified, but fortunately, he's incoherent. “It’s okay, love, I'm gonna lower you to the floor, okay?” He slides one hand under Harry’s stomach and hooks the other around his back, then tugs him off the coffee table. Though as soon as he starts to move him, Harry screams out, and Louis winces, biting down on his bottom lip, “Shh, it’s alright, I’ve gotta move you darling, shh you’re okay.” 

Liam is the first of the boys to wander over, quietly asking, “Do you need me to grab anything?” 

Louis doesn’t say anything as he lifts Harry off the table, guiding him to the floor, but when his face comes into sight, Louis sees the large gash above his eyebrow, spurting blood. The crimson color drips down the side of his face, intertwining with his hairline, matting the brunet curls to his scalp. “Shh, it’s alright, baby, just a little longer,” he lays Harry on the floor, then aids him onto his side, where his body clenches and his mouth falls open with a cry. He coughs, deeply, and blood splatters, enough blood for Louis to know he’s dealing with more than a bloodied tongue or gums. “Call 911,” Louis says, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the edge of the gash. “You’re okay, Harry, it’s gonna be alright.” 

The boys exchange a look as if questioning Louis’ directions, but Liam grabs his phone, plugging one ear, as he dials the number and speaks to a dispatcher. 

As soon as he’s on the floor, his eyes screw shut, and his head pivots to the side, smacking off the carpet with a series of intense tic-like jerks, crying out as he does. His neck and forehead veins protrude from straining. Louis drops to his knees, hand hesitating over Harry as he twitches, until he decides to touch Harry’s forearm, brushing his knuckles over the surface as he waits for the more severe spasms to interlude. “It’s gonna be alright, I’m sorry I couldn’t move you somewhere more private, love, I’m really sorry.” 

Harry’s eyes open, fighting the urge to roll back, then his lips part and a repetitive gasping noise occurs. He’s trying to search for Louis, judging by the way his eyes move, but the seizure is overtaking him, forcing his beautiful irises and pupils to disappear, only the whites of his eyes show. 

Harry starts spasming a few moments later, groaning loudly and intensely, as his body bucks against the floor. Louis slides his hand under Harry’s head, fingers curling slightly to cushion the impact of being thrown back repeatedly. “It’s alright, shh, you’re gonna be alright, sweets, it’s okay.” He’s trembling, choking over several whimpers, and his chin raises, straining his neck as the seizure coerces him to wither. “Almost over, Harry, not much longer now, love. You’re gonna be alright.” 

He gurgles, bloody saliva flooding out of his mouth as he makes the noise. His wrists are turned inwards, smacking against each other as his arms twitch due to the intensity of the fit. Louis carefully cups his cheek with his spare hand, holding his face away from the carpet, as he could suffocate if his nostrils and mouth are confined. Some of the blood from his head wound creeps down to gather on his fingers while the saliva from his mouth collects in the palm of his hand. “You’ve gotta come out of it, baby, you can do it. Come out of it for me, sweets, it’s alright.” 

There’s a smell Louis recognizes and it isn’t the strong smell of urine he usually senses during Harry’s fits. Pity twinges his chest, causing his heart to clench, and he immediately unzips his sweatshirt, wrapping it around Harry’s waist and tucking it under his bottom as the spasming motions begin to slow. “It’s alright, love, you’re starting to slow down. You’re okay," Louis assures, hand quickly shifting to untangle Harry’s hand from the cord of his medical alert necklace. Somehow his fingers became entangled with the chain and the tugging on his throat worries Louis. He doesn’t want his boyfriend to asphyxiate. “We don’t want that, love, don’t want you hurting yourself.” 

It’s not the first time he’s witnessed Harry lose control of both his bladder and bowels, though it’s a rare occasion. This time around it’s not as surprising considering how hard he was seizing moments before. Truthfully, it’s one of the worst seizures he’s seen Harry have. 

The rigid, unpredictable movements Harry was experiencing come to a halt and he’s left with wide eyes, his mouth agape, and a confused mentality. “It’s alright, wasn’t as long as the other ones,” Louis whispers, brushing Harry’s hair off his face, “Look at me, Harry, can you look at me?” he asks.

Harry groans, tongue shifting in his mouth, then he coughs, more blood expelling. He’s not staring at anything in particular, eyes wandering around his unfamiliar surroundings. “Can someone grab me a flannel?” Louis calls over his shoulder as he watches Harry. As concerning as the laceration on his head is, Harry coughing up blood makes Louis extremely apprehensive. He worries about the way Harry fell on the coffee table, if he caught the corner of it the wrong way, there could be internal damage. 

Niall hands Louis a damp wad of paper towel. “Couldn’t find a cloth, sorry,” he mumbles, swallowing thickly as he stands over Louis, observing Harry. “Is he gonna be alright?” 

Louis doesn’t answer him. He holds the paper towel to the gash spanning across Harry’s temple to his forehead, hoping to clot and slow the rapid flow of blood. He can feel Harry’s frantic pulse underneath the pads of his fingers. “You’re alright, sweetheart, shh, I’ve got you.” 

Harry weakly turns his head, then proceeds to vomit all over the floor. “That’s alright, love, get it all out,” Louis says, rubbing his arm as he does so. 

He stops, lolling his head back against the floor with a groan. “I'm getting somebody to come look at you. It'll be okay.” 

The constant reminder of “it’ll be okay” serves as words of comfort for Harry, even if he can't understand them, but also for Louis. He has to continuously say it to keep his sanity because this, Harry bleeding and coughing up blood, is not a promising situation.   


None of the boys know what to say. They were being so rude towards Harry minutes before and now he’s had a seizure as the result of the stress of both their harsh words and his medication switches. 

“Do you know who I am?” Louis asks, using his thumb to apply pressure to the wound. Harry stares at him, unblinkingly, and doesn’t attempt to speak. “Harry love, do you know who I am?” he asks, again.

Still, Harry doesn’t speak, no real emotion laced in discolored eyes. 

“Okay, that’s okay,” Louis whispers, peeling back the paper towel to see if the bleeding has slowed. It hasn’t. 

“Here,” Liam says, handing off another wad of damp paper towel. “Should I grab a pillow or something?” 

Louis nods. “I- yeah, a pillow. A pillow sounds good,” he touches Harry’s cheek, brushing over his cheekbone, “You’re doing so good for me, love, so good.” 

Liam kneels down beside Louis, “Do you want me to slide it under him?”

“No, don’t touch him,” Louis says, strictly, “I’ve got it. Hold the paper towel to his head while I get him situated,” he takes the pillow and begins to help Harry sit forward, but the younger boy cries out, coherent enough to know there’s pain on the right side of his body. He slings his left arm around his torso, hand weakly pressing to where he’s injured. Louis hesitates, pulling his hands away from the trunk of his body. “Where does it hurt, love?” he asks, despite knowing Harry isn’t capable of producing an answer, let alone forming words. 

Liam peers between the two of them, remaining quiet. Louis is oddly patient and calm in these situations when Liam knows he would be panicked and losing his temper.

Louis pulls Harry’s shirt up, then feels around his chest and stomach until gradually reaching the right side of his body. He peels Harry’s hand off his side and gently prods the area, earning a wounded noise from his boyfriend and a glance at the large bruise beginning to form. “It’s his ribs,” he announces, “Can’t tell how bad it is though," he tugs Harry's shirt back down, allowing him decency, "You're gonna be alright. Do you know who you are?"

Harry tries to move his lips, but they quiver too feverishly for him to produce anything aside from gasps. "Shh, I shouldn't have asked, take it easy love," Louis coos, rubbing the knuckle of his point finger across Harry's jawline. 

A medic is in the building a few minutes later and comes to the same conclusion. There’s damage to Harry’s ribs and he’ll have to be rushed to the nearest hospital. “Can I ride with him?” Louis asks, standing over Harry as he defenselessly lays against the gurney, fingers fumbling with one of the straps restricting his every move. He reaches for Harry’s hand, intertwining their fingers. Harry pulls away with a whine.

The medic isn’t very sympathetic when she says, “I’m afraid you’ll have to meet us at the hospital.” 

They disappear. Louis stares down at his feet, fighting the urge to cry. 

“I think I’m speaking for all of us when I say, we’re really sorry,” Niall says, grabbing Louis’ shoulder. 

Louis jerks away. “I don’t need this right now,” he says, then walks out to the parking lot. The hospital is the last place he wants to be. 

 

 

 

 

Louis sits with his palms gripping his thighs and his eyes downcast, head turned to the floor. Hospital lobbys are some of the dreariest places in the world. Even despite the amount of times Louis has been sat in one, there's no single, clear sign of comfort.   


“Hey,” Zayn says, slipping into the empty chair beside him, “Liam and Niall are on their way. Have you heard anything yet?”

“No,” Louis sniffles, wiping his nose with his sleeve. He won't make eye contact with Zayn. A few more tears run down his face, then drip onto his lap. “It was bad, Zayn.”

“I saw,” The younger boy says.

“No I mean-” Louis shakily inhales, “I mean genuinely, it was bad. I've never heard him cry out like that. Like a- a injured dog or something. Fucking horrible,” he mutters, wiping his eyes.

Zayn places his hand on Louis’ back, rubbing in a circular motion. “He’ll be okay, man. I don't think it was as bad as it looked.”

“Easy for you to say,” Louis says, tugging away from Zayn’s touch, “you weren't covered in his blood. He didn't wither under your touch.”

A nurse steps out of the back room and greets them. “You're here for Harry Styles, right?"

“How is he?” Louis stands, too eager to see Harry and confirm his status. “Can I see him?” 

The nurse offers a weak smile. “Not yet, I’m afraid Dr. Kraft is still running a few tests. He’s going to put him through an MRI.”

“Then- then why are you talking to me right now?” Louis snaps, narrowing his eyes. “If I can’t even see him? You’re taunting me with it.” 

“I need a list of his medication. We’re worried about contradicting prescriptions.”

Louis fishes in his pocket for his wallet, then withdraws it. He opens it and upon doing so, tugs a white piece of paper from its contents.

She nods as she reads over the medical jargon. “I’ll take this back to the doctor.” 

“I-what?" Louis sputters, “when can I see him?” 

“Soon, honey. I’ll come grab you soon, okay?” The nurse has a hard gaze locked in her steely grey eyes. “For now, I need you to have a seat and relax,”  she disappears into the back hallway, leaving Louis and Zayn to themselves yet again. 

Zayn gnaws on the inside of his cheek. “So like how many,” his voice cuts out, “How many different medications does Harry take?” 

“Five,” Louis says, standing with his hands on his hips and eyes fixated on his sneakers. 

“Five?” 

“Two for his seizures, one for hand tremors, nausea, and anxiety,” Louis lists, “He doesn’t have it as easy as you all seem to assume.” 

“I didn’t-” Zayn hesitates, lowering his voice, “I didn’t know he was struggling with anxiety.” 

“Always has,” Louis mutters, sitting down, “Thought maybe you’d be able to relate to him better than the other lads given all the shit you’re going through.” 

Zayn shakes his head. “I didn’t know it was that bad and if I-”    


“The seizures weren’t enough?” Louis interrupts him, eyes floating up to meet Zayn’s tranquil brown ones. “Because they’re my worst nightmare. You haven’t experienced anything until you’ve watched one of your loved ones crumble at your feet and there not being a  _ damn _ thing you can do to fix it,” His voice is thick, laced with dreary emotion. Tears begin to travel to the surface of his eyes, blurring his vision. 

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Zayn clutches Louis’ shoulder, rubbing his thumb against the material of his shirt, “I’m sorry, man. I should have realized.” 

“I don’t like to get upset about it in front of Harry, y’know? I- I don’t want him to have to worry about me when he has enough going on in his head, but I- it kills me to see him so poorly and defenseless,” Louis breaks off with a sad laugh, “and half the time he doesn’t even know who I am when he comes out of it.”

Zayn nods as though he understands. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, embracing Louis, and rests his chin on his shoulder. The older lad melts into his touch, nuzzling his face into Zayn’s neck. 

“I want him to be okay, Zayn,” he whispers. 

Zayn rubs his back. “He will be.” 

Niall and Liam arrive twenty minutes later. The tension builds, but the nurse from earlier breaks it when she invites Louis to visit with Harry. 

A doctor stops him in the hallway and explains the extent of Harry’s injuries. Twelve stitches for the head laceration, a mild concussion, and two fractured ribs. The doctor said he was lucky his broken ribs didn’t puncture any organs. 

Louis slips into the small sterile room and sits down beside Harry’s hospital bed. The stitches above his brow change his appearance entirely. He looks rough, as though he was involved in fight, which he was, but with a coffee table instead of a living, breathing organism. “Hey,” he whispers, taking Harry’s hand in his, “How are you feeling?” 

Harry takes a minute to answer. His behavior is lethargic, either a postictal symptom or effect of the concussion. He slowly turns his head to glance at Louis, studies him for a moment, then says, “How I did…” he sighs.

“Take your time, love,” Louis assures, ignoring Harry’s fumbled sentence, “There’s no rush.” 

“How did I get here?” Harry asks.

Louis thinks for a moment. He doesn’t know how much he ought to tell Harry, what details to include or which ones to leave out. “Uh, well you had a seizure at the studio, in that little lounge area, you know the one.” 

“Pool table,” Harry says, then winces when he inhales too deeply, “Hurts,” he mumbles.

“Yeah, the one with the pool table,” Louis says, brushing his hair off of his face, “and you came down on the coffee table, smacked your head and your side caught the edge of it. You broke two of your ribs, that’s why you’re in so much pain.” 

Harry rests his head against the pillow, raising his chin slightly to glance up at the ceiling, “Don’t remember,” he says.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Louis asks, curiously. 

Harry shrugs, “Dunno.”

“Okay,” Louis says, pressing a kiss to Harry’s forehead, “How’s your head feel?” 

“Sore,” Harry mutters, blinking a few times, “Where am?” he asks, completely disregarding the basic rules of the English language. 

Louis knows the concussion mixing with the aftermath of a seizure can’t possibly be good for Harry’s comprehension and sanity, “You’re in the hospital, Harry.”

“Oh,” Harry furrows his eyebrows, studying his surroundings, “How?" 

“How what?” Louis asks, confused.   


Harry’s eyes widen and he gazes at Louis, reaching out to touch his face. Louis leans forward to grant Harry full access to tugging on his nose and pinching his lips as a child would do. “How did I get here?”    


Louis’ heart hurts for Harry. He must be terribly confused. “A seizure, you had a seizure, love.” 

“Don’t want to have a seizure,” Harry whines, tears welling in his eyes. He tries to blink them away, but instead they streak his cheeks. 

“No, Harry,” Louis cups his chin, speaking slowly, “You already had a seizure. You’re here so the doctor can keep an eye on you. You hit your head.”

“How?” Harry asks, utterly baffled. 

Louis forces a smile, not willing to answer the question for a third time, “It’s not important right now, Harry. How about you get some rest? I’ll be here when you wake up.” He adjusts the blankets around Harry, tucking them under his weak stature, and fixes the pillows, fluffing them. 

Harry falls asleep a few minutes later. Louis sulks out of the hospital room, only to find his three bandmates standing nervously in the hallway, waiting to see Harry. “He’s sleeping right now. You’ll have to come back later.” 

“Okay,” Niall says, “How is he?” 

“Confused,” Louis replies, dryly, “dazed, scared, sore, injured. Unfortunately, this event will be putting us off schedule. Should I tell him he’s out of the band or did one of you want to do that?” 

Liam sighs, “I take back everything I said. I shouldn’t have made the comments I did and I’m sorry.” 

“Tell it to him, not me. He deserves an apology from each of you,” Louis replies, “I’m going to grab coffee from the cafeteria. If you’re done being rude, you can join me.” 

When he sits down at one of the lunch tables, hands clasping a hot mug of coffee, three familiar faces sit around him, offering words of comfort. "I appreciate your help back there," Louis sips out of his mug, "Thank you guys for staying so calm."   


"Wish it wouldn't have down to that," Niall replies. He sits across from Louis while Liam and Zayn sit on either side of him, "Shouldn't have taken a full blown seizure for us to understand. I feel like a real idiot for being so harsh."

Louis nods, "Yeah, you guys owe him a huge apology. You'll have to get him Stone tickets or a new pair of boots or something," he stops, "But in all honesty, I can relate to your frustration. It takes time to understand. For me, it's easier because I love him, he's my boyfriend, y'know? He's extremely open and honest with me. He's usually open to discuss it if you just ask." 

"It'd be nice to be on the same page," Zayn agrees, folding his arms on the tabletop. "I wanna know he's feeling. I wanna understand. It's such a big part of his life and your life, too." 

"All you can really ask for is people who want to be educated," Louis says, "It'll mean the world to him, knowing you guys wanna understand and learn."

Liam sighs, "Just wish it wouldn't have taken so long. Feels like I don't know him as well as I thought I did."

"I know how you feel," Louis whispers, sipping his coffee. He adds, "I learn new things about him everyday."

 

 

 

 

The lads visit Harry the next day. He’s still in pain and confused, but a glimmer of his unique personality begins to shine through. They all apologize to him for behaving harshly and coldly for the past week and Harry being Harry, shrugs it off, instantly thanking them for their courtesy. 

Louis squeezes his hand. If Harry is comfortable with his bandmates apologies, Louis is too. “Think they’re gonna release you tomorrow,” he says, “but you’re staying in bed for the rest of the week, you hear me?” 

“Wonderful,” Harry mumbles. 

“We’ll come ‘round and keep you entertained,” Niall says, then adds, “You like charades, don’t you H?” 

"Of course," Harry laughs, “I wouldn’t want to occupy my time any other way.” 

Louis brings Harry’s hand to his lips, peppering kisses against his soft and warm skin. He finds comfort in the warmth as well as the thumping against his fingertips when he holds the underside of Harry’s wrist. 

It reminds him of the preciousness of life, more importantly the glory and brilliance of Harry’s life.   
  


**Author's Note:**

> hopefully y'all enjoyed it. as always, feel free to leave me story suggestions below - even if they don't pertain to epilepsy verse - or on my tumblr (troubleistheonlywaydown.tumblr.com). also, feel free to give me a follow on twitter @terrestrialhaz (we can be super cool mutuals!). thank you for kudos, hits, bookmarks, recs, comments, all that jazz. have a great day/night! huge love and cheers. emily. x


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